CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
IT WAS SOME TIME before Callie’s sobs began to subside, but finally she sat up and took out her handkerchief, wiping the tears from her face. She let out a long breathy sigh.
“I am sorry. That is the second time I have cried all over you,” she told Francesca. “You must think me dreadfully prone to tears.”
“No. I think you are going through a very trying period. Believe me, there have been times in my life when I have done nothing but cry, it seemed,” Francesca replied and patted her hand. “There is no need to apologize.”
“Thank you.” Callie summoned up a watery smile. “And thank you for what you did in there earlier. You saved me. I was afraid Brom and Sinclair were going to kill each other.”
“I am just glad that I arrived in time.”
“How did you?” Callie asked. “I have never been so surprised as when you walked in.”
“Well, when I returned from my visit to the Duchess of Chudleigh, Fenton gave me your note, saying that Rochford had been hurt and where you had gone. So I had my carriage brought ’round, and I set out after you.”
“So you did not come because you had figured out it was a trap?” Callie asked.
“No. I hadn’t the slightest idea. I had realized that Daphne was behind Lady Odelia’s invitation. She let it slip as we were driving home. Lady Odelia said that ‘dear Daphne’ was right. She had not thought I would like to go, but then Daphne had assured her that I would doubtless want to see my mother’s godmama. Well, you can imagine how I felt. If Daphne had been there, I would have slapped her. Of course, I just had to swallow my bile and smile. But I did not realize that Daphne had a larger plan to get me away from the house when her message arrived. I simply assumed that she had done it in order to have a good laugh at my expense.”
“I see,” Callie said, a smile curving her lips. “Then you came rushing up to the cottage just because you thought Sinclair was hurt. You care for him, don’t you?”
Francesca seemed for once at a loss for words. She looked at Callie for a moment, then pulled herself up as straight as possible and gave her a cool look, saying repressively, “Of course I care about Rochford. After all, I have known him all my life. Besides, I assumed that you might need my help in caring for him if he was injured. I feel sure that he is a terrible trial when he is ill.”
“Oh,” Callie said, with a knowing smile. “I see.”
Francesca frowned at her and continued, “We had slow going. It was night by then, and sometimes, in the darker patches, a groom had to walk in front of the horses with a lantern. When we finally pulled into the yard this morning, I saw Rochford’s horse tied up in front. I thought that was most odd, since he was supposedly laid up in bed with broken bones. And the instant I got out of the carriage, I could hear him shouting and all the noise inside, so I knew that he wasn’t hurt after all. That is when I realized this was all some sort of plot—doubtless of Daphne’s making.”
“It was quick thinking on your part to send your carriage round to the stables.”
“I hadn’t any time for considering things. I knew I had to convince Rochford that I had been with you the whole time, so the carriage could not be sitting in the yard. I told the coachman to go to the stables and take care of the horses, and I ran around to the back and came in the back door. Then I pretended to have just come downstairs.”
“Thank goodness you did,” Callie said fervently and reached over to squeeze Francesca’s hand. “You saved us all from disaster.”
“Well, I did promise to help you in any way possible,” Francesca responded lightly.
“You have done more for me than I ever could have imagined,” Callie told her. “And I appreciate it so much.” She hesitated, then said, “But I think that I will return to Marcastle with Sinclair. I thought that I would stay through most of the Season, just to keep everyone’s tongues from wagging, but it does not seem that important anymore.”
“Oh, Callie…” Francesca’s face was filled with sympathy. “I am so sorry. I wish you would stay. Not just for the company, although I confess that I will find the house quite empty without your presence. But I hate to think that you are giving up…”
“On finding a husband?” Callie supplied the ending to her sentence. “I fear that I am no longer interested in that. I rather doubt now that I shall ever marry.”
“No. I meant giving up on finding love,” Francesca corrected her gently.
“I do not think that I am meant to do that.” Callie smiled faintly. “Do not look so sad. I do not regret the past few weeks. I would not give up what I have done and learned and felt for the world. I did not think that I was capable of great love, and I was willing to settle for something less—comfort and companionship. But I discovered what it is to truly love. I have experienced that. Now I know that nothing less would be enough.”
“Callie, pray do not give up entirely on the earl. It is clear how much you love him.”
“Yes, but it is not enough for me to love him.” Callie’s smile was sad, her tone resigned.
Francesca knew that there was nothing more to say. She nodded, aware of an old ache deep in her own heart.
After that, the two of them fell silent. As the carriage moved slowly onward, they sat, sometimes raising an edge of the curtain to look outside, but most of the time simply lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Callie, worn out from her tears, slept, wedged into one corner of the carriage.
They traveled slowly at first, for the horses were tired, and they soon stopped to change horses. Rochford even decided to leave his horse at the inn where they made the change, reluctantly handing over the care of his prized mount to Francesca’s groom, with orders to bring the animal on to London the following day.
With fresh horses, their pace picked up, and by evening they were once again in London. Callie had told her brother that she wanted to return to Marcastle with him, so he left her at Francesca’s house to pack while he went to Lilles House to arrange for their departure.
“I will send the carriage for you tomorrow morning,” he promised Callie. “I presume that you and Lady Haughston will want to spend this evening together to make your goodbyes.”
“Thank you,” Callie said, going up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
He looked at her, surprised. “Does this mean that I am out of your black books?”
She smiled faintly. “I did not approve of your attacking Lord Bromwell, no, but I am glad that you care enough to come racing to protect me. There is no brother as good as you, I am convinced.”
He smiled. “I shall hold on to those words and remind you of them next time you are vexed with me.”
Rochford turned to Francesca. “Lady Haughston.”
“Rochford.” She held out her hand. “I trust that next time we meet, it will be under less…strenuous circumstances.”
“Whenever and wherever that is,” he said, his mouth quirking up at the corner, “I am certain that it will not be dull.”
He took her hand and bowed over it. Somewhat to her surprise, he held her hand a fraction longer than was customary. Her eyes flew up to meet his, and she found him looking intently into her face. He squeezed her hand for an instant, and said simply, “Thank you.”
She gave him the slightest nod, acknowledging his words, with all the unspoken undercurrent attached to them. He strode away, and the two women turned to the task of getting Callie’s things ready for her departure.
Fortunately Callie’s maid had already packed a trunk of her clothes, awaiting instructions to bring them to Blackfriars Cope, so there was not as much to do as Callie had feared. It did not take them long to get it all done, as Callie was more interested in speed than in neatness. Normally she would have repaired torn ruffles and such, or made sure that all the clothes she packed were clean and ironed, but there would be plenty of time for cleaning and repairs when she was back home. Right now she wanted only to get away.
They did not need to stay up late to finish, but Callie was unable to get much sleep anyway. She tossed and turned and woke from restless, confusing dreams. She felt odd and out-of-place, as if she did not belong here in this room that had been a cozy home for her for close to two months. Once she got up out of bed and went to stand at the window, pushing aside the heavy draperies to look out.
There was little to see, only the dark street below, but after a moment she realized that the restlessness that plagued her came from a vague, deep-buried hope that Bromwell would come riding through the night to be with her. She rested her forehead against the cool glass pane, telling herself not to be foolish. He would not come.
Finally, she pulled herself away from the window and went back to bed.
THE DUCAL CARRIAGE ARRIVED early the next morning, shortly after Francesca and Callie finished breakfast. It was their town carriage, not the one they usually used for traveling, as it was smaller and more dashing, a brougham rather than the heavy coach and four that was now sitting at Marcastle. The coachman explained, with a slightly aggrieved air, that the master had hired a post chaise to take them from Lilles House to their estate, not warranting the town carriage large enough for all their luggage. Indeed, it was a snug fit loading Callie’s baggage onto the brougham, and two smaller bags had to go inside with her.
Francesca walked Callie out to the carriage, where Callie turned and gave her friend a hug.
“Here,” Callie said, taking Francesca’s hand and pressing a small object into it. “I so enjoyed being here with you,” she said, tears clogging her throat. “I want to give you something.”
Francesca looked down at her palm, where a delicate ivory-and-jet cameo necklace lay on a golden chain. “Why, Callie, this is beautiful. But—”
“No, please. It was my mother’s.”
Francesca’s eyes widened. “No, Callie, think! You cannot want to give this away. I cannot take it. Really.” She tried to hand the necklace back to Callie.
Callie shook her head. “No, I want you to have it. It is not the only thing I have of my mother’s. And I would like to think that we are linked—almost like sisters. Please?”
Francesca looked troubled. “Are you certain?”
“Yes. Absolutely. It is important to me.”
“All right. If that is what you want.” Francesca’s palm closed over the cameo. Then, impulsively, she stepped forward to hug Callie again. “Please, do not immure yourself up there in Norfolk. Promise me that you will come back—for the Little Season, perhaps?”
“Perhaps. And you will come to Redfields, won’t you? I intend to persuade Rochford to spend a good long while at Dancy Park.”
“Yes. Of course I will visit there.”
Francesca felt unaccustomed tears rise in her throat as Callie gave her a last smile and climbed up into the smart black carriage. Then it rolled off down the street, with Callie leaning out to wave another goodbye.
Francesca waved back, watching until the carriage turned the corner. She turned, then walked back into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom. Her maid Maisie was there, seated on a stool by the fireplace, sewing a ruffle onto the bottom of one of Francesca’s skirts.
“Well, Lady Calandra is gone, Maisie,” Francesca told her, then sighed and sat down at the vanity table. “I shall miss her, won’t you?”
“Yes, my lady. She’s a winning one, she is.”
As much as Maisie liked the Lady Calandra, she would have to admit that what she would miss most of all was the hearty meals that the duke’s generous allowance to their household had meant. Lady Francesca would have objected, of course, if she had known just how much money had flowed in from the duke’s agent the last two months to pay for Lady Calandra’s upkeep. Indeed, she would probably have sent it back to His Grace in a temper. But, fortunately, Fenton was too canny for that; the duke’s man of business had dealt straight with Fenton, who would have been sure not to reveal the details of the arrangement with Lady Francesca.
Maisie smiled a little to herself as she considered the fact that Fenton was also canny enough to have set a good bit of that money aside for future use, so perhaps the larder would not prove to be too lean, at least for another month or two.
Francesca opened up the jewelry box that sat atop her vanity and pulled out a drawer, manipulating a catch so that a hidden drawer slid out of the false bottom. Carefully she laid the cameo down beside a glittering sapphire bracelet and a set of sapphire earrings.
“I cannot keep receiving gifts that I cannot bear to sell, Maisie, or we shall all starve,” Francesca told her maid ruefully and closed the small cabinet.
She turned to Maisie. “This Season I must find someone I don’t care about at all and marry her off.”
“Yes, my lady,” Maisie agreed placidly, biting off the thread and tying a knot.
IT WAS A SHORT JOURNEY to Lilles House, one that Callie would have walked if it had not been for her baggage. A post chaise waited in front of their house, and the servants were busy loading it, supervised by the butler. That good man took a moment away from his task to hand Callie out of the carriage and welcome her home, just as if she and her maid had not stopped by for a visit just last week.
She wondered if the servants, too, had heard the gossip and felt sorry for her. Probably, as they always seemed more knowledgeable than she about all the latest scandals.
“Callie.” Rochford stepped out of the house to greet her. She noticed that a red spot on his cheek and another beside his eye had blossomed into bluish bruises since yesterday.
“Hallo, Sinclair.” She smiled as he came out to take her arm, pausing to inspect the job of loading and unloading the carriages.
“We will be ready to go as soon as they transfer your trunks,” he told her. “Cook has prepared an enormous hamper to take with us. She is convinced that inn food would be certain to lay us both low.”
Callie went inside to speak to the cook and housekeeper, knowing they would both be hurt if she did not take the time to do so. By the time she returned, the coach was completely loaded, waiting only for the coachman to check every strap once again. Rochford had turned to offer his hand to help Callie into the carriage when there was a shout and clatter of hooves. Both of them turned to see a man riding down the street at a much faster pace than was normal—or safe.
An instant later, Callie realized that it was Lord Bromwell.
She sucked in an astonished breath, her heart suddenly hammering in her chest. It was as if her daydream had come to life—Brom racing to stop her from going.
“Wait!” he cried as he grew close, pulling his mount to a stop and leaping off the horse. “Do not go!” He tossed the reins to one of the servants and strode up to Callie and Rochford. “Thank God I caught you.”
“Just barely,” the duke said, eyeing the other man a trifle warily.
“I went to Lady Haughston’s first. I thought you would be there. She told me you were leaving for home. I was afraid I had missed you.” Bromwell’s gaze flickered to Callie. “I had to talk to my sister, as I told you yesterday. She told me…everything. How she planned yesterday because she wanted revenge on the duke. How she—” He stopped, the muscles jumping in his jaw, before he went on. “How she lied about you, Rochford, all those years ago. I have come to apologize for…for everything. I am sorry. What she did was wrong and despicable.”
He looked wretched, almost ill. “I hope you will accept my apologies for the trick she played on us all yesterday.” His gaze went to Callie again, then as quickly away.
Why would he not look at her? Callie wondered. This was not at all the way she had envisioned Brom’s return. Where was the passionate declaration of love? The assurance that he could not live without her? Indeed, it seemed that Bromwell was more interested in talking to her brother than to her.
Bromwell straightened his shoulders and faced the duke squarely. “Sir, I regret my rash and impulsive actions fifteen years ago. I was foolish to believe my sister, and I—I am sorry for wrongfully accusing you. I hope that you will find it in your heart to forgive me. If not, I can understand, though I will deeply regret it.”
Rochford hesitated, then offered the other man his hand. “It is only natural for a man to defend his sister.”
“I know.” Bromwell shook his hand, and some silent masculine communication seemed to pass between them.
“I have broken my ties with my sister,” Bromwell went on, still looking at the duke. His face reflected the pain of that decision. “I know that she cannot be in our lives after what she did. I could not expect you to agree to my marrying your sister if she was. And that is why I am here. I have come to ask your permission to pay my addresses to Lady Calandra.”
Callie stared at him, stunned.
Rochford, oddly, did not seem as surprised. “I think you will find that Lady Calandra makes her own decisions. But you have my permission.”
“Thank you.” Bromwell nodded to him, then swung around to Callie.
“Lady Calandra…”
Callie raised her brows. “Oh? Have you noticed me finally? Am I allowed to have some say in this matter? I thought perhaps you and my brother were simply going to write out a marriage contract, decide my dowry, and all would be settled.”
“Callie?” Brom began uncertainly.
“I am my own woman,” she said fiercely. “And if you wanted to marry me, I am the one you should have asked. Not him!”
Tears burned at the backs of her eyes, threatening to break through. Callie turned and ran back into the house, slamming the door after her.
Bromwell turned back toward the duke, looking confused. “What happened? What did I do?”
Rochford shrugged, turning his hands up in the universal gesture of a male baffled by the behavior of females.
Bromwell turned and trotted up the steps after Callie. One of the footmen jumped to open the door for him, but Bromwell was already inside. “Callie!”
She was standing in the huge vaulted entryway of the house. Whatever servants were around had discreetly melted away into some other area, and she was alone before a round table. Arms crossed, she seemed to be studying the large vase that sat in the center of the tabletop. At Bromwell’s voice, she turned and regarded him balefully.
“Callie, I don’t understand,” he said, going over to her. “I—I thought you would—I thought you would be agreeable to marriage. I was not aware that you had…an objection.”
“I have no interest in marrying you to salve your conscience,” Callie shot back, swallowing back her tears. “I have no desire to marry you because you feel that you wronged my brother fifteen years ago, or because it is the proper thing to do, or because your sister trapped us into a compromising position.”
“What the devil are you talking about!” he protested, his own temper rising now. “I never said any of those things!”
“You did not have to. It is quite clear that all I am is a burden to you. You said not a word to me—not a smile or a glance—and went straight to my brother to apologize to him! As if he were the person who was most concerned with this, and I would do whatever was agreeable to him.”
“No! I spoke to him because I wanted it all done properly. I wanted to make peace with Rochford so there would be no reason for a rift between you and your brother. It was not he who concerned me, it was you. My desire to marry you has nothing to do with the duke. Nor anything to do with my sister or with gossip or what everyone in the ton will think.”
“Then why do you wish to marry me?” she challenged.
He looked at her, astonished. “Because I love you, blast it! Because I cannot bear to live without you in my life. When I was there at the hunting lodge, before you came, I had nothing to do but look at the bleak days that stretched out in front of me. Endless, bitter, lonely days, because you would not be in them. I love you so much that my life is worthless without you. And that is why I want to marry you!”
“Oh, Brom!” The tears now sprang into her eyes and fell, unheeded. She leaped forward, throwing her arms around his neck. “That is the right reason.”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, burying his face in her hair. “Then will you agree to marry me? Or must I go down on one knee?”
“No, no,” Callie said, half laughing, half crying. “Stay just where you are. Yes, I will marry you.”
He kissed her then, a long, satisfying seal to their agreement. He raised his head and looked down into her eyes. “I love you, Callie, more than I ever dreamed I could love anyone.”
“And I love you,” she said, looking up at him with stars in her eyes. She had come to London to find a husband, she thought, and instead she had found love.
With a smile, she went up on her toes to kiss him.